


A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: + juliet btw. i love that movie. so, M/M, Modern AU, Romeo and Juliet AU, fluff ? a bit? i guess?????????????, mentions of abuse, this is very heavily inspired by the baz luhrmann romeo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i tried writing a steve/bucky romeo and juliet au. it didnt work and this stuff has just been gathering dust on my computer for ages so i figured what the hell. im gonna post the bits and pieces i did write, maybe itll motivate me to keep going (not likely). but i hope you like it</p>
            </blockquote>





	A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

It begins three times. Three separate days where one could point and say ‘This. This is the start of it all’

In truth, it began almost a century ago, when the sky was dark and crowded and two men swore against each other over some -now forgotten - offence.

The first beginning is on a Sunday morning, when the two families are squashed next to each other under the eyes of God.

The second beginning is before the rest of the world has woken up, the cool twilight that precedes dawn.

the third beginning, the beginning people often call the true one, is when two boys, a brown haired and a blonde haired one come together in the midst of chaos and carve out the rest of the story in a few simple hours.

+      

Through the car windows there isn’t much to see but flat, flat earth and blue, blue sky. They push up and down to meet each other out on the horizon. It’s easy to see the curve of the world, and Steve stares at it as they zip past on the road. His fingers twitch on his knees, he could get it in four lines – maybe five, one for that cloud over to the left – and water colour. His recent occupation. For a second he wishes he had them with him. They’re still new enough that the blocks of colour look like jewels inside a clean white box, they’re not muddied by careless use yet. Not that he’s ever careless per se. He doesn’t really pay attention to his surroundings when he’s painting.

Once, a while back, he’d been painting these flowers his Ma grew out in the back garden and he got yellow paint all down the side of his face. He didn’t realise until Buck had appeared at his elbow and said,

“You done it again, Stevie.”

But there wasn’t any time to get the water colours. He’ll just have to settle for clean pencil strokes.

“Whatcha drawing?”

“Sky.”

Bucky’s jaw is tensed, his fingers on the wheel are clenched tight so the bones push through the skin. Steve draws him too, profile, hair ruffled, face crumpled, shadows and light all.

“Where’re we goin’?”

“Away,” Bucky mutters, shifting gears with absent movements.

“How long?”

“Dunno. Maybe forever.”

He’s got a bruise where his jaw meets his cheek. Purple and black blooming under his pale skin.

“What happened, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes dart left in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t answer.

“This isn’t like you,” Steve says, insistent, because it _isn’t._ Bucky isn’t the one who acts impulsively, he’s never been the one who made up his mind without looking at all the options.

“Maybe I don’t wanna be like me anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky glares at him. Steve glares back. There’s a moment of silence as the car slides on past more identical cracked earth. Then Bucky swears and the car jerks to a halt. He flings open the door before it’s fully stopped moving and climbs out, striding nowhere with intent. Steve follows. The night-air is pale blue and fragile, Steve breathes it in along with the washed out red of the ground. Dawn has barely broken. He says, “Buck.”

“They’re sendin’ me away. To some school, coupl’a states over. ‘Till I graduate.” Bucky stalks back towards Steve, anger making him take up more space. “Who’s gonna take care of the girls while I’m gone, huh? I’m leavin’. They’ll be stuck there with Dad. Mum sure ain’t gonna do anything.” He grits his teeth, breathing unsteadily. “Real efficient plan they’ve got, y’know? Killin’ two birds with one stone. They don’t have’ta put up with their piece of shit son for two whole years. And when I come back I’ll be old enough for them to kick me out on my ass. But how can I not go? Don’t have anything else to do, nowhere else to go. They got me cornered.”    

“Shit,” Steve says. Bucky nods.

“Yeah. Shit.”

For another few seconds he manages to stay angry, but then Bucky crumples. Steve moves towards him quickly, and Bucky leans forward, pressing his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. Steve can feel him shaking slightly, he wraps his arms around Bucky and holds him quietly.

“Is there anything –”

“Nah. Nothing you can do, Stevie.”

“Well.” Steve’s heartbeat hiccoughs, he ducks to meet Bucky’s gaze. “That’s not entirely true. Obviously, this won’t – but it’s still… it’s something I can do.”

“What’s that?”

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. “If this – if you don’t want this, that’s ok. I just want to… have all the cards on the table. So to speak.”

“Stevie.”

“Yeah?”

In the early morning light, Bucky’s face looks pale and vivid. His lips, his eyes, his hair stand out stark against the wispy blue sky.

“Just – just do it.”

Steve does it.

He puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and leans forward until he can feel Bucky’s breath on his lip, then he leans in some more and then –

Bucky is warm. He always had been, but it feels different when his warmth was pressed against Steve’s jutting body. Steve hoped for a brief second that his twig bones weren’t too sharp against Bucky, but Bucky didn’t seem to care. He gave a little exhale against Steve’s mouth and then his fingers were pressed against Steve’s sides.

When they break apart, Bucky’s pupils are blown huge in his blue eyes.

“That was ok?” Steve asks. Bucky nods, Steve can see him swallow.

“Yeah. That was good.”

Steve kisses Bucky again, quickly. “I know it doesn’t stop you from going away, and that sucks, but… but I just… wanted you to know. And know that I’ll be here. When you get back.”

“There are worse things to come home to,” Bucky mumbles.  

+

The house of Capulet sits by the bay, ensconced in twilight. The driveway is lit by softly glowing lamps and fairy lights, inside there can be heard the muffled voices and strains of laughter. The doors are propped open, golden light smears the path leading up to the mansion. It looks so inviting, practically begging the passersby to stop, stay a while, and yet -

“We shouldn’t be here.”

“Sure we should,” says Steve. He squints up the driveway at the house, then looks at Sam. “Says so on the invitation, doesn’t it? Come one come all etcetera etcetera.”

“I think it’s pretty safe to assume you’re not part of that one and all. This is a bad idea, Steve.”

“You’re a bad idea,” says Steve lightly. “And your mask is skewed.” He reaches out and readjusts Sam’s mask so it sits properly on his face, obscuring all but his scowling mouth. “I said you didn’t have to come, you know.”

“Yeah right,” Sam mutters. “If you die here your mother will flay me alive.”

“Sarah rogers? Never.”

Sam lets out a small squeak, and Steve grins.

“You don’t know my mother.”

“Sure sounds like we’d get along.” Natasha pokes Sam in the arm, smirking. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Apology not accepted, damn. I almost jumped out of my skin. Which, granted, would have meant a killer costume for the party, but still.”

“I like your cowboy outfit.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam grins. “Thanks. I like it too.”

“Nat,” Steve interrupts. “Do you –”

“Have the tickets? You bet I do, lover boy.”

She waves them at Steve, three embossed golden tickets, three non-refundable tickets to enemy territory.

“Ok,” says Sam, as Steve pulls him and Natasha up the loose gravel path. “Boy scout rules. No man for himself, always be prepared.”

“Are those the boy scout rules?”

“Always be prepared is. I dunno about the other one, but that’s not the point, Steve. The point _is_ you aren’t allowed to leave our sides tonight –”

“He’s gone,’ says Natasha. Sam sighs.

+

_They attend mass at the same time. Always have, probably always will. The two families filing into the cold church on Sunday morning, one side is all Montagues the other is all Capulets. There isn’t any open animosity between the two families as they sit almost side-by-side and pray under the eye of the Lord. Afterwards, all the children attend Sunday School while the adults part in silent contempt._

In accordance with your great love, forgive the sin of these people,

_Their teacher is a long-suffering preacher who sits with children milling about him and passes on God’s word. Steve listens with his whole heart but he doodles on his bible and gets sent to the corner. There’s already someone else in the corner, someone with dark hair that’s been greased back from his young face. Steve knows him – barely – as the son of his father’s enemy. Steve looks at him. The boy, James, if Steve remembers correctly, looks back._

_“You’re a Capulet,” says Steve._

_“Sure am. And you’re a Montague.”_

_“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”_

_James shrugs. “Not really.”_

_“What’d you do?”_

_“Whaddaya mean?”_

_“In class. The teacher sent me over here for drawin’ on my bible.”_

_“Yeah? Can I see?”_

_Steve pulls his bible out from inside his coat and flips it open. In the margin he’s drawn an image of Mother Mary, clear as day, but she looks different from in all the statues. Steve flushes slightly. She looks a lot like his own mother. James looks at the drawing for a few seconds, then glances up at Steve._

_“This is real good,” he says. His eyes are wide with sincerity. Steve feels his chest swell a little bit._

_“Thanks. So now are ya gonna tell me what you did?”_

_James tilts his head a little to the side, considering. “My Ma,” he says, “She’s Jewish. Told the teacher I decided I was too.”_

_“Can you do that?”_

_“Sure. Ma said I could.”_

_“Is your Pa Jewish too?”_

_James’ face falls a little bit. “No,” he says flatly. “He doesn’t like Ma saying she is, neither.”_

_“Oh.” Steve. James turns to face him for the first time, and Steve can see a gentle shading of purple on James’ cheek._

_“D’you care? That I’m Jewish? And a Capulet?”_

_Steve shrugs. He doesn’t like being told what to do, not really, so when his whole life was built being told to hate the Capulet’s instead he built a steady wall of indifference. As far as he’s concerned, James is just some kid he’s met. He tells James as much, and James grins._

_“Real heartfelt. Touching stuff.”_

_“Name’s Steve. Steven Grant.”_

_“Nice ta meet ya. I’m James Bucchanan. But everyone calls me Bucky.”_

_They shake hands, the way grownups do, and James – Bucky – grins. “So, you’re an artist?”_

_+_

_Bucky’s always bruised. It doesn’t take Steve long to figure it out, there’s only one week where it doesn’t look like Bucky is sporting any discolorations on his skin, but then when they strip off on the beach at Cony Island his chest blossoms with blue and black. Steve only asks him about it once, that day, when they’re both standing on the quiet beach. It’s Sunday, the rickety amusement park is closed and the wind is bordering on brisk._

_“I’m always purple, you’re always skinny, Stevie. Just how we were born.”_

_“You weren’t born with ‘em,” says Steve defiantly. “They’re always comin’ and goin’.”_

_“Can’t hear ya,” calls Bucky, tearing across the sand. “Too busy bein’ a winner.”_

_“Jerk,” grumbles Steve, following him into the blue spray. It’s chilled in the water but they make up for it with vigorous games of tag until Steve has to sit down in the shallows and time his breath to the slow moving waves._

_The first time Steve lands a shiner, Bucky is over him in three seconds flat. His fingers flit over the abused flesh, his eyes are wide._

_“Stevie,” he says, almost frantic, “who – how – who did this? Who did this to you? Steve –”_

_“’M fine, Buck.” Steve shrugs. “Got into a fight at school.”_

_“At school?”_

_“Yeah. Saw some boys picking on little Jenny from the class below us?”_

_“You –” Bucky let’s out a loud puff of air, looking suddenly limp. “Shoulda known.”_

_“Yeah, well.” Steve presses the skin around his eyes with almost clinical interest. “This’ll be a real big one, huh.”_

_“Yep. That guy must’ve slugged you good. Did you get any hits in?”_

_“Some. But then the teacher came over.”_

_“Why didn’t you just call for her in the first place?” says Bucky, looking exasperated and despairing._

_“No time.”_

_“You’re really somethin’ Steve.”_

_“Speak for yourself.”_

+

The heart of the party is actually a lot less enjoyable than it looks from the outside, Steve decides, pushing past the insurmountable crowd of party goers that somehow squashed themselves into the mansion. There’s a smell of alcohol, heavy in the air, like you could get drunk just by breathing, and people are pink-cheeked and bright eyed from dancing the night away. There’s a band in the corner and loud voices and Steve feels a moments gratefulness to his bad ear and how it’s probably shielding him from the full volume of the party. He isn’t here to get drunk or face the dance floor. As reckless as Steve is, he wouldn’t gate crash a Capulet family party for a few free beers and a night of reveling. He isn’t much of a fan of either of those things anyway, being drunk makes him feel like his head is full of thick steam and he’s never been anything more than a boy with two left feet. But he’s here for something else entirely.

Crashing a party thrown by your family’s great rival of decades is a stupid idea and Steve, despite popular opinion, is not stupid. He pauses, squashed between two unidentifiable people and assesses the situation. The room is jam packed. People line wall to wall, claiming space with wild dance moves or drunken staggers. He’s never going to be able to -

He’s never going to find -

He needs a bird’s eye view. Steve breathes out, long and loud, through his mouth. He can feel sweat already sticking his top to his back. Another thing he needs is water.

A large wooden staircase leads up from the middle of the dancefloor to the rooms above, and, as clearly signposted by some blessed individual, the bathrooms. Steve moves through the crowd slowly, and within minutes is climbing the steps away from the fancy-dressed fruit salad of humanity below.

Inside the bathrooms, a window is open, and cool air blows through it in regular gusts. Steve stands under it, relishing the feeling of being able to move freely, before moving to one of the taps. He turns the knob and water spills into the basin. He fills it up a reasonable amount, and splashes handfuls of water onto his flushed face. The water is cold and with the droplets that run down his cheek, he feels some of the agitation of the evening leaving him too. He takes a drink, splashes himself once more, and straightens up.

Only then does he realize that there’s someone else in the bathroom. Someone who, like Steve, pushed his mask off his face to sit atop his head. Steve stares at him, at his open mouth, his dark hair, his blue eyes.

Different, and yet the same. Except for the red demon costume and little plastic devil horns.

Steve whispers, “Bucky?”

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, his mouth wide, his eyes wider. “What’re you - you’re –”

“Bucky.” Steve unconsciously moves forward one step, not knowing what to do with his body which suddenly feels inelegant and cumbersome. “Buck.”

“Steve, you can’t –”

The door opens, and someone says, “James?”

Steve doesn’t turn around, he can’t, his mask is off and he’s standing in the Capulet bathroom.

Bucky says, “Hey, Dad.”

Steve freezes.

“James, your fiancé is waiting for you, downstairs. Hurry up and get down there, you hear?”

“I’ll be down in a second.”

“You better, boy.”

The door closes, and Bucky lets out a low, steady sigh. Then he looks at Steve again. “Leave,” he says, and walks out of the bathroom, with Steve watching him go and feeling like some bone in his body has been snapped in half.

It takes him a few seconds to get his mask back in place and edge out of the bathroom, and by then Bucky has properly vanished. He stands by the balustrade and looks down at the party guests, searching for dark hair, red horns. He doesn’t find them, but he does see Sam’s cowboy hat and Natasha’s glinting red hair. He takes a deep breath and pushes into the mayhem again, accidentally elbowing a faceless guest in his haste.

“ _There_ you are.”

“Sam thought you might’ve been thrown out already. Or murdered.”

“Yeah, well, so far so good, listen.” Steve casts an eye over the people closest to them, but none of them are who he wants them to be. “Have either of you seen Bucky?”

“Haven’t found him yet?”

“I did,” Steve murmurs, “but he got pulled away to meet his fiancé.”

Sam winces. “Ooph.”

“I saw him a few seconds ago,” Nat says. She jerks her chin over Sam’s shoulder. “Went that way.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Steven.”

Steve pauses. “Are you two... ok here? I know I’m ditching you.”

“We knew what we were getting into when we agreed to come,” Natasha says.

“Besides, it’s a party. We can keep ourselves busy,” says Sam. Natasha grins wolfishly. Steve raises his hands in an 'I-don’t-want-to-know’ gesture, and then moves off in the direction Natasha had pointed, while in the background Nat hoists Sam onto her shoulders and begins to walk around on her tiny, powerful legs.

Steve finds Bucky again near a door leading out into one of the many sections of garden that ring the huge house. He stands beside his father and his mother, back straight, hands clasped behind him. Steve moves until he’s standing next to Bucky, and carefully reaches out to take one of Bucky’s hands. Bucky stiffens at his touch, looking around with an expression of implicit hostility until he realizes who it is. As soon as he twigs, he doesn’t look hostile anymore. Just pissed off. Steve raises his eyebrows. Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve frowns. Bucky runs his unoccupied hand down his face, and then he’s moving quickly, tugging Steve behind him until he reaches the small lift in the corner of the hall. Bucky presses the 'open doors’ button and pushes Steve into the empty elevator, closing the door behind him.

The elevator doors slide shut and immediately Steve presses forward, desperate to hold onto any part of Bucky he can, make sure he’s really there, it’s really him –

“Stupid,” hisses Bucky. “What’d’ya come here for? You idiot – I shoulda known you’d do something like this, I swear to God Steve.”

“I had to come Buck. I had to. You think I’d stay away knowing you were here? You think I’d be _able_ to?”

“You reckless fucker,” says Bucky. And then Bucky kisses him. Gently, achingly gently, closed-mouthed but when he pulls back Steve feels like he can’t breathe. And that’s something he has a lot of experience in.

“So that’s what they were teaching you over there,” he murmurs, and Bucky lets out a laugh that sounds a little bit like a sob and kisses him again.

“God,” _kiss_ , “I,” _kiss_ , “missed,” _kiss_ , “you -”

“So much,” says Steve hurriedly, bringing a hand up to brush against Bucky’s cheekbone. “Yeah, me too pal, but also stop talking and -”

Bucky is smiling against Steve’s mouth, his face is warm and his lips are soft and Steve closes his eyes and slips his arms around Bucky’s neck.

The elevator door opens, and they push apart. From outside, someone is calling,

“James!”

Steve reaches across, fumbling with the buttons and the doors slide closed again. Bucky’s hands are on his face, thumb stroking his jaw. It takes only moments for them to reach the next floor, far quicker than the lifetime Steve would be willing to spend with Bucky in that elevator. When the doors open again, Bucky’s sister Rebecca is standing on the other side of them, her arms crossed. She takes one look at the two of them, then reaches out and takes hold of Bucky’s arm, pulling him onto the landing.

“Your _fiancée_ awaits.”

Bucky looks back at Steve, he whispers, “get outta here,” and then he turns.

Steve darts out after them, watching as Rebecca and Bucky walk away across the dance floor until he’s lost sight of Bucky. His heart whirrs against his chest and his cheeks are warm. The intense frustration of losing Bucky again so quickly stands out in his clenched fists, his tense posture. Steve takes several deep breaths, in, out.

+

Natasha and Sam are both at the entrance to the house, Natasha’s hair is perfectly pinned even after the night’s revelries, but Steve has no time to wonder at that. Sam grins at him as he approaches.

“Looks like you found what you were looking for. Ready to go?”

“No.” Steve pushes through the gates and walks down the path a little way, glancing at the vine encrusted walls that surround the house.

“What?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Without turning back, Steve darts into the foliage around the high wall, searching for something – anything –

The brick walls are built in such a way that every third line juts out slightly. Steve reaches up and grips at the blocks above him, his fingers scrabbling on the hard surface to find purchase. He finds it, loses it, finds it again and hoists himself up, over.

Steve doesn’t put nearly as much effort into climbing back down the other side, he slips and ends up dropping someway to the ground. His knees buckle and he falls onto soft grass.

The garden he’s standing in is enclosed by the walls of the outer-perimeter and leads up to a large marble balcony. There are double glass doors, shrouded by red curtains. Through the fabric there’s a bloody red glow from the light inside, it makes soft ruby panels on the well-kept lawn. He can hear behind him the still-rowdy departing guests, boisterous with wine and food and talk, but there’s a certain stillness to the air that sits with him.

The doors of the red room open quietly and Bucky slips out into the night. From Steve’s position amongst the high-reaching plants and vines near the wall, he can see the slouch of Bucky’s shoulders, the slope of his neck as he tips his head back and exhales slowly. Steve is about to step forward when the door opens again and Rebecca appears.

“James?”

Bucky turns slowly. “Yeah?”

Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then moves forward and hugs Bucky. For a few seconds they stand together, speaking softly. Rebecca pats Bucky’s cheek once, looking at him, her lips move slightly. He nods, replying, and she smiles.

“Goodnight,” she says.

“Night.”

Rebecca pulls open the door once more, and the red curtains spill heavily around her as she walks between them and out of sight. Steve waits only another brief spell of time before moving from the shade of the wall and onto the grass.

He whispers, “Bucky.”

Bucky spins around.

“Steve?”

“Nah,” says Steve, looking up at him from the lawn. “Someone else.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You are really somethin’.”  

“Did you see ‘er? Your fiancé?”

“Sure did.”   

“What’s she like?”

Bucky shrugs. “Enthusiastic enough about the arrangement, rich enough for my folks to approve.”

“You can’t marry her.” Steve says, before he can stop himself. “You can’t. I mean. Do you want to?” he feels something scratchy in his throat, like when he needs to cough.

Bucky says nothing until he’s finished stepping languidly down the stairs and they meet on the grass. “Nah. There’s someone else, see.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Only, he’s a real asshole. A real goddamn asshole. Gold plated, good quality, a grade –”

“Jackass,” mutters Steve. He breathes in, and out. He says, “well, maybe we should just get married then.”

Bucky snorts. “Don’t I wish.”

“Buck, I’m serious.”

Bucky looks at him for a moment. “You are,” he says. “You are serious.”

“’Course I am.”

Bucky lets out a loud puff of air. “We can’t just – get married.”

“Why not?”

“I have a fiancé.”

“Yeah, a fiancé. Not a wife.”

Bucky stares at him.  “Why would you want to marry me?” he says, very quietly. Steve half laughs.

“ _Buck_.”

“Steve.”

In the sky, the first strings of sunlight begin to thread themselves through the clouds. Every blade of grass in the garden is sharp and defined and bright. Steve’s fingers ghost over Bucky’s cheekbone.

“I love you,” he says, very quietly. “You know, don’t you? I love you.”

“Yeah, well. A fella always likes to hear it.” Bucky grins, his face is soft and open. “I love you too.”

“So? Will you marry me?”

“Shucks, Stevie,” says Bucky. “Sure I will.”

Steve laughs, but only for a second because then Bucky is kissing him again, slow, like a promise. When they move apart a fraction to breathe, Steve whispers, fast-paced,  

“I’ll ask the priest about the service. If you can, send someone, I’ll let them know what time.”

“Guess I’d better get a move on with my vows.”

Steve points a stern finger at him. “I expect only the best from you mr I-won-that-writing-competition-for-three-consecutive-years.”

“You’re gonna be real disappointed, pal.”

Steve heaves a sigh. “Boy,” he says, “did I miss you.”


End file.
